


In the Name of the Father

by raidelle



Series: Raidelle's Alphabet Prompts [12]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, FFXV Characters Make Guest Appearances, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hints of Gladnis, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 13:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16041269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raidelle/pseuds/raidelle
Summary: Gladio receives gifts from his father, some so much more significant than others.





	In the Name of the Father

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aileme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aileme/gifts).



> This is for [@iraaileme](http://iraaileme.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr who chose **Gift** for Clarus and Gladio set in the Brotherhood Era, for my Alphabet Prompts project.
> 
> It took a while, but I hope it's worth the wait. Enjoy reading! :)
> 
> Do note that I lifted some dialogue directly from Gladio's episode of Brotherhood to keep things somewhat canon, but I also took some liberties in inserting some of their thoughts and how some scenes played out. ^^

When Gladio turned nine, his father gifted him with knowledge.

For a long while after Amaryllis had died, Gladio would bundle himself up in one of his mother’s scarves, curl up on her chair in the sitting room, and cry himself to sleep at night. He would try to muffle his sobs as much as possible, because he knew his father was also sad, maybe even sadder than he is, and he didn’t like to add to that.

On the morning of his ninth birthday, he woke up in much the same way that he did since he started his little ritual: snuggled into the velvet of his mother’s wingback (Gladio could still smell his mother’s perfume on it if he sniffed hard enough) and his arms closed tight around her pillow that he borrowed from his parents’ bed.

Gladio rubbed at his swollen eyes, still red from crying, and yawned and stretched to get rid of the last vestiges of sleepiness. Then he remembered what day it was and he frowned and dropped his arms, all of a sudden sad and somber. “I miss you Mommy,” he whispered to himself and snuggled back into the chair.

“I miss her too, Gladiolus.”

Gladio jumped in surprise; he could have sworn he was being really quiet and he didn’t think his father had been there at all. But he’d been caught and he had been taught at a young age by both his parents that boys absolutely _did_ and could cry if they feel like doing so, so he just nodded. “Good morning, Dad.”

“Good morning, son. And happy birthday,” his father rumbled in his deep and calming voice, and Gladio remembered wishing then and there that his own voice would sound that way when he grew up.

“Thank you,” he said because he didn’t know what else to say.

“Come, I have something to show you.”

His father led him to the library. Mom’s library. It was a beautiful room, filled with shelves and shelves of books that both Clarus and Amaryllis had loved. Gladio could remember as if it were only yesterday that he lay on his stomach by the fireplace with his adventure books while his mother sat nearby and turned the pages of a Henruit volume.

“Dad?”

“I know that I’ve said that you’re not allowed in here unless you’re with me or Mom, but I think you are old enough now to know how to handle everything in here,” his father said. “So this is my gift to you. I hope you like it.”

Gladio looked at the golden key his father had handed to him with wonder in his eyes.

He did not leave the room for the rest of the day. Jared had to bring up breakfast, lunch, dinner, and some birthday cake, and Gladio took extra care not to spill anything on any surface and most especially not on the books.

That night, and every night since, he slept on his mother’s chair in the library, surrounded by books and warmth and the knowledge that his father trusted him to take care of something so valuable and dear to his heart.

* * *

 

When Gladio turned thirteen, his father taught him the meaning of strength.

As a member of a noble family, as the future Shield of the future King, Gladio began basic Crownsguard training when he was ten years old. Under the tutelage of both Cor Leonis and Clarus himself, Gladio mastered the basics of sword-and-shield fighting in ten months. He would move on to greatswords when he turned thirteen, they’d told him, because he would need more muscle for that and he wasn’t allowed to work on his physique until he was thirteen.

So Gladio waited for three years, all the while dutifully training and studying and preparing himself for the day he’d be able to wield a greatsword (albeit a practice one) just like his father.

Bright and early the day after his thirteenth birthday, Gladio went straight to the Citadel’s training halls and strode immediately toward the weapons rack holding the wooden broadswords. He was holding one up, testing its weight, when Cor’s voice sounded behind him.

“Not so fast, hotshot.”

Gladio whirled, slightly embarrassed but defiant. “You said when I turned thirteen I --”

“You’ll be thirteen for a year. Plenty of time for you to practice, hmm?” Cor said. His brow was arched, as if daring Gladio to argue.

Gladio wisely did not fall into the trap. He placed the weapon back into its slot and clenched his fists at his sides instead. “Yeah, of course. What’re we going to do today then, sir?”

At that exact moment, as if it were rehearsed (looking back, Gladio thought it most likely was), the doors opened and in came his father with a young, black-haired boy in tow.

“Good morning, Gladiolus.”

“Good morning, sir.” In these halls, his father was always “Lord Amicitia,” “Lord Shield,” or “Sir.”

With a slight smile, as if he were amused at the honorific, Clarus continued, “I don’t know if you’ve been introduced properly before but I’m quite sure you know who this young gentleman is, Gladiolus.”

“Of course, sir,” Gladio nodded. Then he turned to the boy who was practically hiding behind the folds of his father’s robes and bowed deep from the waist. “Good morning, Your Highness.”

The prince frowned. “My name is Noctis,” he said sullenly. He looked so remarkably like Iris when she was pouting.

Gladio looked at Cor and Clarus for confirmation; both adults nodded so Gladio responded with another greeting for the prince. “Hello Noctis. My name is Gladiolus but you can call me Gladio.”

“You can call me Noct. Lord Amicitia says you’re going to be my Shield,” he replied, still sullen.

Cor stepped forward to reply. “That’s right, Your Highness, and that’s why the Lord Shield and I thought it would be a good idea for the two of you to train together to get to know each other and --”

“What?” Gladio barely kept his outrage in check. His father raised his eyebrow at him to remind him of his impoliteness and impropriety. “I’m sorry, sir. But I thought I would --”

Cor cleared his throat to interrupt Gladio’s protests. “We thought it would be good for the two of you to get to know each other and learn how to work together at an early age,” he said. “It would not do if you were just Prince and Shield; you must be good friends as well.”

“Starting today, you would train together with me or Cor three times a week. We will follow His Highness’s schedule, so your training hours will change, Gladiolus.”

Gladio knew it was futile to argue so he just nodded his assent. “Yes sir,” he said.

“We would also like you to teach His Highness sword fighting basics, Gladiolus. Cor would be there to supervise, of course, but for the most part, we will set aside two hours once a week for a one-on-one skills training for you.”

His father’s voice, but most especially his steel blue eyes, brooked no argument.

They’re delaying his weapons training _and_ they’re also asking him to teach fighting basics to _Prince Noctis_ who looked like he didn’t even want to be here?

“Yes, sir. I’ll just wait for the final schedule from the Marshal.”

“Good. For today, I would like you to review basic training drills with Cor to show His Highness what he should expect once his own training commences.”

Gladio clenched his fists again and nodded. “Yes sir, of course,” he said.

Patience wasn’t really Gladio’s strong suit, but it looks like he was going to have to learn to cultivate it.

 

***** 

“Again!” Gladio barked, as Noctis surged forward, swung his practice sword, and fell again with one strike.

“No,” the Prince of Lucis muttered. “It’s dinner time.”

And with that, the boy -- not a prince, just a boy -- stalked off. Gladio waited until the doors of the training halls had closed behind Noctis before he growled his frustration.

He just couldn’t believe how Noctis, the future King he was supposed to serve as Shield, could be so uncaring and weak-willed. King Regis was an honorable man who stood by his decisions even if they were unpopular, and here was his son who looked like he was capable enough but didn’t want to to apply himself because… because….

“That stuck-up prince!”

“You said something mean! I’m telling Papa!”

“Iris!” He wasn’t expecting her to be eavesdropping and though he’d meant it, he really didn’t want her to tell their father what he’d said about the prince (he was thirteen, not stupid). So he grabbed her from behind the arm of the sofa and lifted her onto the seat to tickle her senseless and hoped she forgot about it.

Unfortunately, she didn’t. Iris was much too insightful for a five-year-old. “Do you really hate him?” she asked after she’d caught her breath from laughing.

“Yeah, I hate that spineless brat from the bottom of my heart,” he admitted because it was better to be honest. Maybe he hoped it would make Iris’s little crush go away.

“But isn’t it your job to protect him?” she said earnestly.

“Huh?”

“You’re supposed to be the King’s Shield. Just like Papa!”

“If it were King Regis, yeah. But I’ll never protect that punk,” Gladio said bitterly. “Not like he’ll ever be king anyway.”

“Wait -- how come!”

Gladio didn’t want to think about it anymore so he bullied Iris into going to bed. It wasn’t like she’d understand anyway -- she has a crush on a spineless brat, even if that brat was the prince he was supposed to protect. What did she even know, right?

 

***** 

And then that spineless brat helped find his wayward sister, who somehow got herself lost in the gardens of the Citadel on a rainy day.

They’d all been frantic with worry, and Gladio had been beside himself thinking of what ifs and should haves. What if she was hurt? What if she got kidnapped? He should have stayed with her or at least he should have found someone to stay with her before he left for his duties.

When Noctis and Iris turned up, morose and sopping wet from the rain, Gladio breathed a sigh of relief that immediately turned into a huff of outrage at Noct’s confession. He wanted to play -- _to break royal protocol_ \-- and he asked Iris to go with him? The little punk was lucky King Regis was there. Gladio didn’t trust he’d be able to control his anger if it were just him and a couple of Citadel staff.

When they got home later that night, Gladio was still seething. He kept tossing and turning in bed, so he just decided to do some exercises to release his frustrations. And then Iris dropped him a shocker.

“I was chasing a kitty and got lost. Then Noct… saved me.”

“He saved you?” He didn’t care about the level of sarcasm in his voice. “Like I’m gonna believe that!”

“It’s true!” Iris said, practically yelled.

“But he said he asked you to --”

“I’m sorry.” Iris said. She erupted into loud sobs that broke his heart and changed his mind.

"Okay. I believe you, Iris. Now come on, let’s get you to bed. Sleepy time.”

The events of the day and her bout of crying took their toll with a vengeance, and Iris was fast asleep within minutes of her head hitting the pillow. Gladio kissed her forehead, pulled her blankets up and around her shoulders, and clicked off the bedside lamp.

He was making his way back to his room when he heard his name uttered by a rumbling voice. He took a deep breath to steel himself before facing his father.

“What is it, Dad?”

"Come, let’s talk awhile. You had quite a day, I heard.” Clarus didn’t wait for an answer, just turned around and led the way to his office, and Gladio followed dutifully.

Once the heavy oak doors were closed and drinks were poured -- scotch for Clarus, soda for Gladio -- Clarus prompted. “So. Tell me what happened.”

Gladio spared no details, even his own feelings in the matter. “I was just so mad! I thought, like, if he wanted to break rules, he shouldn’t’ve dragged Iris into it, right?” he huffed. “But Iris told me that it was her fault and Noct saved her and I didn’t believe it at first because it’s Noct! He’s a bit careless and irresponsible and --” he stopped himself before he insulted the prince even more.

“And then she started crying and I believed her. ‘Cause she never cries unless it’s something that really matters to her and I just…” Gladio trailed off, unsure how to continue.

“Hmm.” Clarus steepled his fingers and placed his chin atop them. “And have you learned your lesson?”

“Me?” To say Gladio was surprised was an understatement.

“It would be an awful waste of your sister’s tears, otherwise.”

“I guess I…” he looked up to meet his father’s piercing gaze and Gladio had to avert his eyes. “I guess I was wrong about Noct. He’s not a… he’s not such a brat after all. Guess I should give him a chance.”

Clarus smiled at him and Gladio felt he passed some unknown test. “It takes a different kind of strength to admit your faults, Gladiolus, and it’s that kind of strength that matters so much more in the greater scheme of things.”

Gladio didn’t really think so, and it would take him a bit longer to understand it, but for now he just nodded and let his father continue.

“We Amicitias have long served the Crown, son. Many have lain down their lives to protect their Kings and Queens, but many more have died without raising a sword because it was peacetime and there were other battles to fight,” his father said. “It is in these battles that true strength shines.”

There was something in his father’s voice that made Gladio lift his gaze back up again. “A day will come, Gladiolus, that you will need to draw upon this strength. Hone it and hope it does not fail you on that day.”

Whatever made his father sound like that planted a sprout of fear in Gladio’s heart. He would forget it soon enough, and would resurface only years and years later, but tonight it made him nod, tight and terse. He clenched his fists and vowed to hone this newfound strength, as his father had asked.

* * *

 

When Gladio turned eighteen, his father showed him that there is honor in service.

His teenage years had been good to him. He was handsome, smart, likeable, and from a good family. There was little that he couldn’t get by virtue of his name alone, so he spent most of his energy into his studies and his Crownsguard training. Especially now that he’d been officially inducted.

He still had to train with Noct three times a week, but it had been a lot easier going ever since they’d struck up a friendship. Gladio used to be a harsh taskmaster; now he was a strict older brother. It was a huge improvement that allowed Gladio to dedicate more of his attention to himself and his personal affairs.

Such as his rage at a recent comment made by a councilman about him and his family.

He wasn’t even supposed to have heard it at all. Gladio had just finished with the afternoon drills of the new Crownsguard recruits, and was on his way to his father’s office when raised voices reached his ears from the corridor ahead. He meant to quickly pass by and ignore the argument but the mention of his father made him stop.

“The Lord Shield is making things difficult again.” The speaker had a thin, reedy voice. Councilman Presinia.

“Of course he is. He fancies himself an advisor to King Regis when he’s merely a glorified meatshield.” The second voice was smooth and cool. Gladio couldn’t determine who it was, but it sounded like Councilman Levant.

“The title they hold now has made them forget what they really are,” Councilman Persinia scoffed. “Servants. Close to His Majesty but servants nonetheless.”

Gladio spun on his heel and took a longer route to his father’s office to calm himself down. If the slight pain in his knuckles as he finished knocking and his father’s arch look as he stepped in were any indication, Gladio had not calmed down at all.

“Why are you upset?” Clarus said. The question made Gladio feel like he were five years old again.

“Nothing,” Gladio said. He blew a sigh before sitting down on one of the straight-backed chairs in front of his father’s desk. It was such a forceful move that the wood creaked.

Clarus gave him yet another one of his “looks” and Gladio deflated. “It’s just… it’s stupid and petty. I heard, well, overheard two councilmen talking and I….”

“You know what they say about eavesdroppers, son.”

Gladio protested. “I wasn’t eavesdropping! Not… not really. But I heard them mention you and I couldn’t…” He sighed again and mumbled an apology.

“It’s quite alright.” A smile was playing on his father’s lips. “I may or may have not eavesdropped on some conversations myself,” he shrugged.

“Oh.” Gladio found it difficult to imagine his father skulking around corners and trying to pick up gossip.

“So?” Clarus prompted. “Are you willing to discuss or should we move on to other more pleasant topics?”

“I…” Gladio hesitated for a second before taking the plunge. “I heard Councilmen Presinia and Levant, well at least thought it was them. I heard them talking about how you were making things difficult. I dunno what about --”

“They’re trying to pass some legislation that would make it more difficult for refugees to get aid,” Clarus supplied.

“Right. They said you were making it difficult for them, and then Councilman Levant said you were… um. A glorified meatshield. That we Amicitias are just servants of the Crown and I…”

Clarus smiled at him. “This has you upset because?”

“Dad! We’re not --”

“Technically, we are,” his father said. “Think about it.”

“But --”

“Gladiolus, listen to me,” Clarus said, and there was something in his voice that compelled Gladio to do so. “It has been the greatest honor of our family to live in service of the Crown. We are part of a great legacy and I hope you appreciate that, son.”

“I do, Dad. I do,” he said earnestly. “I guess it’s just the first time I’ve heard it. Us being called servants, I mean.”

“There is honor in service, Gladiolus. Dying for the Crown, if need be, is our way of service and it serves a greater purpose.”

Gladio nodded but did not speak. His father looked fondly at him and continued. “We protect an entire people by Shielding one life. A King or Queen’s life may not matter much to some because it is just _one_ life, but that one life means a difference because you are protecting the legacy of that life.”

“And what of our legacy, Dad? Who’s going to make sure it lives on when we’re all dead because we protected the Crown?”

“For us Amicitias, actions have always spoken louder than words,” Clarus said, a faint smile on his lips. “We can’t expect people to sing our praises, but we can do much to ensure that the lives lead would be worthy of their songs.”

* * *

 

When Gladio turned twenty-one, his father shared with him wisdom.

At twenty, he had been officially named Shield to the Prince. For a while, it filled his head with dreams of the different glorious ways he’d be able to protect Noct. Perhaps against a behemoth or some other wild beast? A horde of MTs? A daemon attack? His father would’ve chastised him for it, but Gladio had been looking forward to finally, officially becoming Shield since he was thirteen. He worked hard for it, to prove himself worthy. He thought he deserved some time to slack off and daydream.

After a while, though, the novelty of it wore off. There was peace, no matter how tenuous, and it seemed that Gladio would only be defending Noct from bouts of laziness and self-deprecation.

He pushed on, because it was all there is to do. Better be prepared for a war that would never happen than get caught off-guard when it does. So Gladio studied and trained and worked with Noctis to improve both their skills. He also argued with Ignis on how best to mold a prince into a proper king.

And then his mettle as Shield got tested against, of all threats, a drunken stranger.

It was a classic case of wrong place, wrong time. He tried to squirrel Noct away as quickly as he could, but he didn’t account for the effects of alcohol to a person’s judgment.

Despite being almost a foot shorter and about fifty pounds lighter than Gladio, the man had confidently flicked open a knife and slashed at them. It didn’t seem like he knew what he was doing -- he was drunk and his hold on the knife wasn’t meant for combat -- but Gladio wasn’t going to risk it.

He pushed Noct behind him and angled his body to hide the Prince with his bulk. He wanted to fight back, to at least karate chop the knife off the drunken man’s grip, but it was difficult when he was also leading Noct into an odd backwards waltz as the knife slashed ever closer.

“Car’s on its way. The Guard, too,” Noct reported from behind him, and Gladio grunted in approval. He took a second to appreciate Noct’s relative calmness, which cost him precious reaction time.

The man made a desperate lunge and the knife whizzed in an arc that dragged down Gladio’s face. Gladio hissed at the stinging pain and growled his anger. He slid a foot forward, intending to use his body as a battering ram, but Noct said quietly, “Gladio, no.”

So he didn’t. He slid back his foot and instead leaned to the left, sweeping Noct with him, as the knifed arced again. It was too close for comfort; it would have nicked Gladio’s chin had Cor not appeared at the right moment to pull back their attacker by the scruff of the shirt.

“Go,” Cor jerked his head to the Star of Lucis, which had just coasted to a stop beside them.

Gladio nodded wordlessly. He pushed Noct into the backseat rather roughly before strapping himself in the front seat.

As soon as his seatbelt clicked, the car moved forward. Gladio glanced toward the driver and got a bit of a shock when he realized who it was.

“Hey Iggy.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Noct’s --”

“I’m fine, Specs.” Noctis piped up from the back seat. “He’s asking about you, dolt.”

“Oh,” Gladio blinked. “Yeah, I guess so. I can see outta my eye, if that’s what you’re worried about. But it’s kinda blurry? Or maybe that’s ‘cause of the blood? I dunno.”

“I’m taking you to Crown City General before I drive Noct back. Do you think you’ll be okay on your own?”

“Relax Iggy, ‘m fine.”

Ignis didn’t look convinced. He handed Gladio a pristine white handkerchief and stepped on the accelerator.

 

***** 

Gladio couldn’t remember much of the trip to the hospital. It was a short drive, maybe about ten minutes, but the only detail that was clear to him was Ignis giving him a lightly scented handkerchief. He didn’t think he actually pressed it onto the cut on his face, but when he looked down at his hand, it was clutched tight on the now-stained fabric.

“Fuck,” he muttered. How was he gonna get all that blood off? He can’t give Iggy back a handkerchief that looked like a war souvenir.

“Mr. Amicitia, please don’t move too much.” The doctor who was attending to his wound tsked, and pushed his face back up with a forceful finger on his chin.

“Sorry doc,” he mumbled.

“Hmm. Well it doesn’t need stitches,” the doctor said as she threw a cotton swab into the bin. “But it’s deep enough that we need to bandage it for a couple of days if you don’t want a potion.”

“Right.”

“He’ll take the bandages, Dr. Pulchra.”

The doctor jumped slightly at Clarus’s voice, but nodded and turned to face the visitor. “Of course, sir. I’ll be just a moment.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hello, son,” Clarus said as he stepped further into the room.

“For the record, I was going to pick the bandages, too,” Gladio said.

“Oh I know. Ignis simply asked me to make sure you did choose them,” Clarus replied in a deceptively casual tone. Gladio answered with a laugh and a shake of the head.

“He also asked me if you may be excused from Crownsguard training sessions while you’re recovering.” Dr. Pulchra came back then with some bandages and antibiotic salve, and Clarus gestured for her to proceed.

“Recovering?” Iggy made it sound like he was down with the flu or something. 

“His words, not mine,” Clarus said with a shrug.

Gladio just smiled ruefully. “So am I excused from training, doc?”

“No sparring or anything that might accidentally hit the wound,” the doctor said as she finished the bandages. “For at least two days.”

“Ah. Behind a desk then!” Clarus said brightly and the doctor chuckled.

“Dad!” Gladio complained.

“Doctor's orders.” Clarus said with finality, though his eyes were shining with good humor.

Still chuckling, Dr. Pulchra placed the bandages and salve into a small bag and handed them to Gladio. “I trust you know what to do with these?”

“Yeah, doc. Thanks.” He hopped down the exam bed and together, he and Clarus bowed to the doctor before leaving.

 

***** 

“How are you feeling?”

It was weird seeing his father on the driver’s seat, and it took Gladio a while to consider his answer. Finally, he said, “I’m okay, I guess. The wound stings but it’s tolerable even without the painkillers, and doc already said my eye’s okay. I’m just… tired.”

“Adrenaline does that,” his father replied. “I’m sorry you had to experience it so soon.”

“Don’t worry about it, Dad. It sucks that I got a wound out of it, but it's the first time that I actually got to do my literal job so… can’t complain much,” Gladio mused.

“I’m your father. It’s my job to worry.”

For a while they let the silence linger as they both mulled their thoughts. After a long minute, Clarus added, “But no matter what else has happened, I’m proud of you and what you did, son.”

Gladio sighed. “Would’ve loved to have gotten a hit or two in but Noct said no, so...” He shrugged and let himself trail off.

“It was a wise decision on his part, and an even wiser decision on yours.”

“Yeah?” Gladio hated how he sounded like a child waiting for his parent to confirm that he did, indeed, do a good job.

Clarus spared a glance at Gladio before answering. “Your focus must always be protecting His Highness. That means knowing when to fight and when to retreat. Knowing when an action is worth its price. In this case, Noct’s safety and yours.”

Gladio nodded and curled his fists on his lap. “I wanted to at least disarm the idiot,” he admitted. “But there wasn’t any clear chance so I just… listened to Noct and focused on keeping him out of it.”

It was Clarus’s turn to nod. “Sometimes, holding back can be a better proof of one’s strength than fighting back. Not to mention taking some good advice from someone younger and less experienced.”

The words reminded Gladio of that time long ago, when he and Noct didn’t get along and how his father had taught him a valuable lesson afterward. He was pretty sure his father was remembering it too, if that small, knowing smile was any indication.

“Thanks, Dad. That means a lot,” he said sincerely.

No more words needed to be said then, as father and son simply basked in the rare moment they had to just themselves.

By the time they arrived home, Gladio was about ready to crash. “I would offer you a night cap, but I don’t think it would go well with the painkillers you’ve been given tonight,” Clarus said as they went through the foyer.

Gladio just yawned then snapped his mouth closed because the wound stung like Ifrit’s hell. Instead, he turned to the butler who was patiently standing by the stairs. “Hi Jared. Iris still awake?”

“Unfortunately not, sir. I think she got exhausted from worrying about you and His Highness,” Jared told him with an amused smile and Gladio snorted. Iris had probably been more worried about Noct at one point.

“‘Kay. I’ll just talk to her tomorrow. G’night Jared. G’night Dad.”

“Good night, Gladiolus.”

Slowly, sleepily, Gladio made his way up the stairs and into his room. He threw the bag of supplies onto his bedside table and flopped face-down on the bed. He gave an undignified yelp when the wound stung again; he was so fucking tired that he kept forgetting the cut on his face.

After a while, though, the pain started to ebb and Gladio didn’t want to move anymore. He let the exhaustion wash over him and lull him to sleep.

* * *

 

When Gladio turned twenty-three, his father passed onto him the mantle of duty.

The terms of the Peace Treaty between Lucis and Niflheim were under final negotiations, and Clarus had almost never left King Regis’s side during those crucial times. Gladio understood the magnitude of his father’s responsibilities as Shield, more and more as he himself grew older and closer to his life’s purpose, so he did not begrudge that their moments alone have become even fewer and farther between.

Gladio had not been expecting anything from his father for his birthday this year, apart from the sincere greeting and quick but warm embrace that morning; he was therefore surprised when his father’s secretary called him to say that his presence has been requested at the Citadel later in the evening. “He would be free by nine thirty, Mr. Amicitia,” the woman told him.

“Wow, that’s kinda early for him these days,” Gladio joked good-naturedly. “Thanks Alina. Please tell him I’ll be there. I’d send him a text but he probably won’t get to read it anyway and then he’ll feel bad about it,” he laughed.

“Of course, sir.”

Gladio hung up and immediately called another number to rearrange his plans. “Hi Iggy. Can we move dinner with Princess and Chocobutt to seven thirty? Yeah, Alina called and said Dad wanted to -- yeah, thanks, Iggy. You’re the best. I love -- erm, what? I mean, yeah. See you later!”

 

***** 

"Hi Dad. Rough day?”

Gladio had arrived just in time to see his father close a thick ledger and scrub a hand down his face. “Fairly light, all things considered,” Clarus said tiredly.

Gladio just raised his eyebrows in disbelief and Clarus chuckled. “You know how it is.” He gestured for Gladio to sit down, even as he stood up to fix them drinks.

“Let me do that,” Gladio said, pushing gently at his father’s shoulders, and Clarus sighed gratefully. “Jared taught me how to make a Sazerac. You want one? D’you have the ingredients here?”

“Bottom shelf.”

Gladio mixed their drinks in silence, content to just be able to do something for his father for once. He brought the drinks with him as he rounded his father’s desk and sat down before placing the drink in front of Clarus.

“Here. I hope it’s good.”

Clarus took a sip and he hummed his appreciation. “It is. Thank you.”

Gladio smiled. “No problem.”

“How was your birthday?”

“Good. I took Iris out for some cake and ice cream, and Iggy cooked a lovely dinner. It was really nice,” Gladio said softly.

“Just the two of you?” Clarus probed.

“No,” Gladio wilted a little. “He gave me this, though.” He gestured to the necklace he was now wearing.

“Ah,” Clarus nodded. “All in good time then. But speaking of gifts, I have one for you as well.”

“Dad, you didn’t have to get me anything,” Gladio protested. He twisted in his seat to follow his father’s progress across the room and back to his desk. Clarus emerged from the small store room in the back with a garment bag draped on his arm.

“Here,” Clarus said as he unzipped the bag and brought out a black cloak gilded with gold. He fastened it around Gladio’s shoulders with a tenderness that made Gladio’s heart throb. “Have a look.” He motioned Gladio toward the mirror hanging on one of the walls.

“Dad,” Gladio said brokenly. “This is… You’re still -- I mean I’m not -- Why?”

His father had fitted him with the traditional ceremonial robes of the King’s Shield. It was an old one of his father’s, judging by the slightly faded fabric, but it was soft and had a comforting weight to it.

“It suits you,” his father said.

“Dad.” Gladio nearly choked on the word. “Why are you giving me this? What’s going on? Are you leaving? Are you sick?” A thousand scenarios ran through his mind, none of them good.

“You’ve shown admirable strength and wisdom over the years, Gladiolus. You are intelligent and honorable -- all of the things that a Shield needs to be,” Clarus told him. “And I could not be more proud.”

“Dad, I don’t…. I don’t know what to say. I --”

“Oh, just say you like it and make me feel better,” Clarus thumped him on the shoulder. “And promise me you’ll not strut around the city wearing it. We have a name to protect.”

Now Gladio had to smile. “Of course, Dad. Thank you. I do like it,” he said. “I’m just a little overwhelmed. I thought you were going to quit or something.”

“Many moments will overwhelm and surprise you, son. More so when Noct ascends the throne.” There was a hint of some emotion in his father’s voice that Gladio couldn’t figure out. “I know you will bear the Amicitia name with strength, wisdom, and honor during those moments. And I know you will make me and your mother proud.”

“Aww, Dad.” Gladio shook his head as he tried fight off the threat of tears. “It was okay for a while and now you got me all weepy again.”

“It’s alright to cry, Gladiolus. We’ve taught you that, haven’t we?”

“Yeah,” Gladio said, and with his admission rolled a stubborn tear down his cheek.

* * *

 

Gladio found out about the fall of Insomnia forty-five days after his twenty-third birthday. There wasn’t any time to feel much of anything -- shock, grief, disbelief -- because he had to focus on his role. He was an Amicitia and now he was the King’s Shield.

That night, however, when all three of his companions have fallen into uneasy slumbers, Gladio curled up into a ball on his too-small bed in the caravan at Cid’s garage. He wrapped himself up in the black cloak that still smelled like Clarus and he wept like the little boy he’d once been. Like the little boy he now felt he was, crying for his father.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are very much welcome! Thank you for reading and for your patience with me. :)
> 
> I'm also raidelle on Tumblr, so holler at me there if you want. ^^


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